


Perks of Working Late

by tacotheshark



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barely Public, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season One Centric, so pointless seriously just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacotheshark/pseuds/tacotheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The perks of working late; and so what if Mike spends a bit more time on a desk than at one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perks of Working Late

**Author's Note:**

> i kind of feel like i should apologize because this is so cringe-worthily pointless and plotless it's literally just porn and it started out just to spite my friend who said, when i told him i was writing suits smut, something like "what, are they gonna fuck on a desk or something," and so it was.
> 
> he also followed up with "whoa oh god why is this contract sticky" and well i'm done enjoy the porn

Initially, Mike objected when Harvey asked him to stay late.

He thinks back to that now, back to an hour ago when he was complaining that everyone else had already left and that Harvey was going to overwork him—damn, what a thought—and Harvey was chastising him for not caring about his job, and he thinks that, goddamn, he was so wrong. He was so fucking wrong. He doesn’t think about how wrong he was much, though, because as he sits on Harvey’s desk he’d much rather think about how Harvey is standing between his legs and mouthing at his neck with his perfect warm, practiced mouth, mumbling about how he looks so good and is that a new suit and he must finally be warming up to pretending to be a professional and honestly, Mike doesn’t really mind the insults, not when Harvey is unbuttoning the top of his shirt, knuckles brushing against his chest, trying to get at Mike’s collarbones with his mouth. Mike’s tie is gone, somewhere on the floor; so is Harvey’s. “That’s a new aftershave, isn’t it?” Harvey’s voice is raspy, but not so much so that anyone who didn’t know him as well as Mike would notice. When Mike nods, Harvey nips at the soft underside of his neck. “I like it.”

When he comes back up to kiss Mike’s mouth, not for the first time in the evening, it doesn’t take one press of his lips before Mike is groaning and latching onto him, hands coming up to Harvey’s shoulders as he slips his tongue into Harvey’s mouth, and Harvey just tongues back, his hands resting on Mike’s hips, his mouth velvety smooth and perfectly concentrated. It used to bother Mike that Harvey was never as grabby or eager as he was, and it took some time for him to realize that was because Harvey would always devote every bit of his attention to kissing, that he was just as eager, but in his own way. Now, Mike thinks it’s just about the hottest thing ever, because it makes so much sense; because while he, Mike, is restless and impatient and a multi-tasker, Harvey is nothing if not focused. And he always knows just what he’s doing, especially when he and Mike are alone.

All the other lights in the building are off—it’s just Harvey’s office that’s bright and it really, truly is. The light reflects off the glass walls and makes the outside offices seem so much darker, so much more deserted when this office is so full of life. And there’s that thrill, Mike feels, of doing something you shouldn’t in a place you shouldn’t be. He never quite got the hang of being one of the only few people in a building, especially a building like this, especially doing something like _this._ And then there’s that thrill that comes with the potential of being caught even though the building is locked and empty. If someone were around, somehow, Mike wouldn’t know until it was too late.

And he would have to explain this.

He would have to explain why Harvey is pressed up against him, body pulsing, suave as ever as he tips his head to the side to get a better angle against Mike’s mouth. It isn’t a hard concept, he doesn’t think—he seduced his boss, he guesses, or his boss seduced him, but what’s done is done and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He lets out a muffled groan as Harvey’s tongue sweeps across his mouth and he braces himself against Harvey’s shoulders, trapping the fabric of Harvey’s layers under his fingers when all he really wants is skin. Harvey mutters, his forehead against Mike’s, his breath ghosting across Mike’s lips, “I kind of want to bend you over my desk,” and when Mike’s eyes dart down to Harvey’s lips like always he’s smirking, but Mike knows he’s completely serious.

He says, “Well, undress me first,” and when Harvey captures his lips again Mike’s arrogant grin is wiped right off his face and he isn’t surprised but maybe a little in awe. Maybe more than a little. He wraps his arms around Harvey’s waist to pull him in close and Harvey steps forward, pressing into Mike. His hands come to Mike’s front again to work at the rest of his jacket and shirt buttons, and if there’s anything Mike loves it’s how those practiced hands will always get him naked and ready and will work at him without rushing or hesitating; everything Harvey does is at his own pace. Mike’s jacket falls from his shoulders onto the desk and he pushes it to the side, and his shirt comes next but Harvey leaves it open and hanging loosely around Mike’s shoulders; he feels exposed but not helpless, even though he trusts Harvey enough either way.

And then Harvey slips his arms under Mike’s shirt and around the skinnier man’s waist, his hips pressing hard into Mike’s, and when Mike shifts his hips he can’t help but rut against Harvey, just a little. With a gasp of a chuckle he says, lips against Harvey’s jaw, “You’re gonna ruin my suit one of these days, if this keeps up.”

Rubbing the inside of Mike’s thigh through his trousers, Harvey smirks. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Or I could just wear yours more often.”

Harvey nips at Mike’s neck, brings his hands around to undo Mike’s zip; Mike shifts a little, spreading his legs, loving where Harvey’s hands are. “People would talk,” Harvey says.

His fingers brush against the bulge in Mike’s pants and Mike can’t help but let out a soft groan. “You embarrassed by me?”

“Of course not.” With Mike’s pants undone, Harvey presses up against him again, slipping his hands beneath the waist of them to grab at Mike’s ass. He gives Mike another sweet, indulgent kiss before he goes on: “You’re a fucking gem and you know that, in bed and in the firm.” One hand comes up to the small of Mike’s back, the other to Mike’s knee to pull him up so that Harvey can press the hard line of his arousal against Mike’s own, which is hot and obvious with his pants open. Mike’s mind is racing, more than usual at the least, and Harvey’s words are ringing in his mind. “Think about yourself a little, I trust you have it in you. Could you imagine the scandal? ‘He’s laying Harvey Specter, damn, I bet that’s the only reason he got hired in the first place. He probably isn’t even qualified. Maybe he never even went to Harvard.’”

When Mike tenses up visibly and gulps, his hands freezing at Harvey’s sides, Harvey presses a soft kiss to the dip in his throat. “Mm, relax, you’re fine.” Harvey dips down, then, mouthing at the side of Mike’s pectoral, nudging with his nose at the edge of Mike’s open shirt. He licks along Mike’s navel, and Mike just shudders and leans back just a bit. Harvey mumbles, against the front waistband of Mike’s underwear, “Now get up,” and Mike has never been happier to comply with anything Harvey’s asked him to do. He slides off the desk, going slightly limp in Harvey’s arms; and Harvey, licking his lips and growling just softly, takes his associate-turned-friend-turned-lover by the soft flesh of his waist and, more professionally than Mike could have ever imagined, he turns Mike over and presses him belly-down against the desk. His hands burn against Mike’s skin, like fireworks or a branding iron or even an impression in clay because Mike knows Harvey’s been molding him and imprinting him and sometimes he even lets it happen.

Mike’s shirt is hiked up against his shoulder blades and Harvey slides his pants and patterned boxers down to his knees with two fingers underneath both waistbands in one, swift motion. The cool air floods against Mike’s ass and back in a way that feels foreign but not unpleasant, and he can tell that Harvey’s looking. One of Harvey’s hands is still grasping Mike’s waist, the other is idly rubbing Mike’s thigh, and because he knows Harvey is admiring him Mike arches his back and spreads his legs a little further apart. Harvey’s hand comes up from Mike’s thigh to splay across his ass, lingering a little at Mike’s cheek before coming up to stroke his spine. “I really do think that you are absolutely gorgeous, Mike.”

Mike can feel Harvey’s eyes on him like he can Harvey’s hands and he’s trying to find his balance somewhere between flattered and aroused and maybe just a little in love. He thinks again of being caught and he thinks of someone walking in to see him like this, naked and exposed and sweating and spread out, shameless, all for Harvey Specter.

Propped up on his folded arms Mike watches as Harvey steps around to the other side of his desk and shrugs off his jacket. Casually he unbuttons his vest and drapes both of the garments over the top of his chair, grinning smugly at Mike all the way. And Mike can’t help but grin back; he feels like he’s in a dream, like Harvey is worlds away and yet close enough to communicate with something as simple as a smirk. Harvey unbuttons his shirt, his eyes trained on Mike’s, Mike’s eyes trained on Harvey’s exposed skin. Harvey rolls up his sleeves.

Mike knows Harvey keeps lube and condoms in his desk, he knows from experience and sometimes when he’s looking through Harvey’s desk for files he comes across them and grins. Now, Harvey is opening the desk drawer and rifling through it, and Mike just braces himself, relaxing his head against his forearms when he hears the pop of a cap and looks up just enough to see Harvey dribbling the shiny liquid onto his fingertips. Mike puts his head back down, and he can feel Harvey’s presence behind him.

The first finger comes with a kiss to Mike’s lower back and a hand on his thigh as Harvey circles his hole, spreading the sleek lube, before he slips the digit inside and hooks it against the muscle. “That good?” he purrs against Mike’s skin and Mike can only mutter a lazy, “Mm, Harvey.”

Everything Harvey does is at his own pace and Mike loves it more during moments like this than any other. He loves to lie there, face down or spread-eagle, it doesn’t matter, letting Harvey work him open slowly or rapidly but always surely. All his times with women, Mike was the dominant, driving one, but with Harvey he finds that sometimes he just likes to be touched. It sometimes kills him to be patient but he wouldn’t trade his nights with Harvey for anything.

Harvey has two fingers inside him now, prodding and twisting and scissoring him open. It forces little bubbles of moans from Mike’s throat and his cock, growing heavier, nudges up against the hard surface of the desk,

“You good?” Harvey asks and Mike moans in the affirmative. Harvey slips in a third finger, then, and as the lube spread across Mike’s cheeks begins to cool it contrasts with the warm press of Harvey’s knuckles against his rim. Harvey’s fingers move in and out, slowly, until the initial burn of the stretch ebbs away and all Mike is left with is the intense, awe-inspiring pleasure of having fingers as nice as Harvey’s inside him, fingers that firm and strong and practiced and more than anything _Harvey’s._

Mike is a little disappointed when Harvey’s fingers slip out from inside him, but he’s less so when Harvey smacks his cheek with a lube-slicked yet appreciative hand, leaving something tingling and hurting but so damn good, and he’s much less so when Harvey bends low over him, pressing his chest against Mike’s back, and as he slips on the condom from the drawer and lines up his hard, lube-wet cock with Mike’s entrance he mumbles into the soft space between Mike’s neck and shoulder, “Yeah, there’s no fucking way you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”

Mike can only gasp in reply, “Holy shit,” and then Harvey’s hands are on his hips holding him still, and Harvey’s guiding his cock into him, inch by sweet, sweet inch; it’s mind-blowing to Mike that Harvey can feel as good as he does—it’s mind-blowing that anyone can because when Harvey fucks him he feels like he’s shooting through the stars or lying with the sun—yet Harvey’s lips are open and shuddering against the back of Mike’s neck as he bottoms out and it’s obvious that he _does_ feel that good, and to Mike that makes it so much better.

“Jesus, Mike.” Harvey moves out a little, pulling the fronts of his thighs from where they stalled against the backs of Mike’s, and as he thrusts back in, languidly like he’s savoring every second of it, he breathes heavily against the nape of Mike’s neck. His fingers dig into Mike’s hips and Mike braces himself against the desk, the metal cool as his nipples flatten against its surface.

“Fuck,” he breathes, trying to twist his neck and look at Harvey. His neck starts to ache before he can get more than a glimpse of Harvey’s face, sweaty and flushed and absolutely wrecked. He bows his head back down and Harvey’s pace picks up. The open edges of Harvey’s shirt drape down to brush against Mike’s sides and with every movement the shirt tails sway and tickle against his skin. The fabric moving against Mike’s flesh feels almost as intimate as skin, because if there’s anything that embodies Harvey it’s his suit, and both Harvey and his suit are in a state of completely unpresentable yet incredibly sexy disrepair.

With every thrust Mike shakes against the desk, grunting rhythmically thinks like “Unh,” “Fuck,” and “Harvey,” and Harvey’s little sounds in Mike’s ear are just about the most attractive, unreserved noises he’s ever heard. Harvey slams into him, time and time again, brushing against his prostate every so often and sending sparks up his spine and into his cock while he bucks his hips and cries out. “ _Harvey, Harvey, fuck, Harvey;_ ” Mike’s voice is breathy and wrecked, the way Harvey always manages to make him sound.

“Fu—uck,” Harvey groans, snapping his hips back and he uses a hand against Mike’s back for purchase as he peels his chest from Mike’s back and stands up straight to gaze down at where his cock disappears inside Mike. He moves one hand to the side of Mike’s lower back, right above his ass cheek; the other hand he brings up to tangle in Mike’s hair, the thin, short strands slipping through his fingers as he shakes Mike and the desk on every snap and thrust of his hips. He stands, there, behind Mike thrusting in, out, balls deep and back to just the tip inside, and when Mike is able to get another glance behind him, he can see that Harvey is biting his lip, eyelids fluttering, focusing so incredibly acutely and intently on the increasingly erratic rhythm of his cock rocking inside and against Mike, slick and heavy and hard; Harvey’s losing himself, and Mike loves the thought.

He stretches his arm out from its place folded against the desk, cracking his joints with a soft grunt, and he reaches down between his legs to touch himself, fingers slipping against the pre-cum gathered at the head and using it to slick up his shaft. He groans softly at the feeling of his own fingers, and he moans even louder when Harvey slams against his prostate and his entire body jerks, including the hand he has on his cock. Harvey is hot inside him, pulsing and pounding and so painfully good, holding him down and the lube dripping down from his hole and onto his balls feels cool and wet and when he palms them gently it feels like lightning. He can’t stop himself from moaning, his lips parted, his throat pushing up noises that should be embarrassing but don’t really register even as his own voice echoes in his ears while Harvey’s sounds miles away. But Harvey is so close, and he’s so alluring and so magnetic and so incredibly good at everything he does and at the end of the day he’s still so warm and so _human,_ and before Mike knows it he’s coming, pinching the dripping head of his cock between his fingers, riding out his orgasm loudly against his hand, spurting and dribbling down the side of the desk as he softens between his own fingers.

Harvey presses his palm against the lightly freckles skin of Mike’s back, and with his other hand he holds Mike’s head by the back of his hair as he trails his half-lidded eyes down Mike’s body and rocks against him and whispers. “Jesus, _Mike._ ” He’s looking lazily down at the fervent in-out motion of himself in Mike when he comes—he’s looking at Mike’s lube-slick and stretched hole, he’s looking at Mike stretched around him but most of all he’s looking at Mike and every little freckle and indent and quirk of Mike’s body; and Mike knows all of this. Mike knows how Harvey worships his body and he knows how he amazes Harvey; and that’s alright, because Harvey amazes him too. Harvey climaxes with a cry of Mike’s name and Mike feels everything inside of him: the pulsing of Harvey’s cock as he releases that sticky, liquid heat, its slight softening as Harvey’s moans begin to come down.

Mike’s hole twitches around nothing when Harvey pulls out of him, and when he steps away to toss the rubber in the trash Mike tries to push himself up against his elbows but his exhausted joints give out and he’s face down on the desk once again. Maybe he’ll spend the night on Harvey’s office couch, he thinks; maybe he’ll get Harvey to take him home. Either way, he knows his legs are much too weak to get him home on his bike.

Harvey is back in a second that feels like an eternity, pulling Mike upright and into his arms, peppering Mike’s face and neck with soft, languid, lazy kisses and letting his tiny lover collapse into his arms.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Mike groans, and Harvey grins against the side of his neck.

“Mm,” Harvey mumbles, “we should clean up,” and Mike drops his head against Harvey’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot; you don’t want to be seen with me.” Mike smiles where he rests his head against Harvey’s collarbone.

“You know that’s not it.”

“Relax,” Mike yawns, “I know what it is.”

It’s late but it’s not quite early in the morning yet, and Harvey, after a bit of arguing with a sleepy Mike in his arms, comes to agree that a short nap on the couch is in order before much of anything else.


End file.
